A Good Man
by Meg Kenobi
Summary: Will Turner learns a vital lesson when he meets Jack Sparrow's only loyal lady friend in Tortuga woman of surprising contrast. An experiment in selfinsertion what if Jack befriended not MarySue, but the typical woman.
1. Default Chapter

Title: A Good Man Author: Meg Kenobi Rating: PG Summary: Will Turner learns a vital lesson when he meets Jack Sparrow's only loyal lady friend in Tortuga; woman of surprising contrast. An experiment in self-insertion -- what if Jack befriended not Mary-Sue, but the typical ff.net woman.  
  
Author's note: Someone had to ask the question: Can self-insertion be done honestly and well? Might as well be a quasi-respected hater of Mary-Sue who asks the question. How would your typical fic writer fit into Jack Sparrow's life? I'll give you a hint: it's different if she doesn't have long blond hair, violet eyes, and a surprising secret. Please be honest in your reviews; this was an experiment. I have never written anything like this, which is probably for the best. Does it work? Is this better than Mary Sue? Either way, this is probably a one shot. I took a lot of liberty in making Jack a friend to inserted me, but it was somewhat necessary to prove my point.  
  
A Good Man  
  
"Jack Sparrow," she drawled in mock-seriousness, her accent marking her at once lower class. Much to Will's surprise, Jack spun on his heel, a manic smile lighting his face.  
"Rebekah Sturn," He appraised her with his typically spastic mannerisms. Suddenly he lunged at the young woman and embraced her for a moment. He drew back shortly, the both of them laughing. Will stared, entirely confused by the familiarity with which the two greeted one another. The woman certainly did not seem like the sort who's company Jack normally pursued  
She wore a shapeless ecru blouse that faded without event into a skirt of thick brown muslin. Her wrists appeared from the gathered sleeves, adorned with bangles and coin bracelets and her small hands were littered with half a dozen rings. She was not at all like the handful of other women Jack had 'introduced' Will to. This girl was not tall, voluptuous and lovely. On quite the other hand, she was squat and rather plump. Her features were coarse and her eyes were a dull matte gray. Her skin seemed rough and weather beaten, in stark contrast to the porcelain beauties from earlier that night. Her plain brown hair was tightly plaited and possessed an uninviting sheen that suggested it was quite unwashed. Despite her plain appearance, Jack appeared thrilled by the encounter. The two were volleying rapid-fire questions and responses at a pace neither Will could not follow. Utterly lost, Will cleared her throat, and Jack's attention maniacally snapped to him.  
"Where are my manners?" Jack wondered allowed, seeming to search his pockets for the lacking social graces. "Oh, that's right. Pirate," he shrugged as though statement of his profession were explanation enough. Rebekah gave a derisive little snort.  
"William, this is my dear friend, Rebekah." Jack proclaimed this loud enough for all of Tortuga to hear, gesturing wildly for each individual he indicated. "Rebekah, this is Bootstrap's son," her eyebrows rose is marked surprise.  
"Sit down, both of you. have a drink. So where are you two off to, then?" The girl questioned them curiously  
"Two fold: Rescue damsel in distress and reclaim my ship. You know, we could use your help," Jack responded.  
"Anytime Jack. I could leave tonight."  
"No, not with us. I only need some maps."  
"What?" She seemed stung by the request, but Will wasn't certain why.  
"Not for this trip, mind you, I've already got my effects, but when I take up the command of the Black Pearl again--."  
"Jack, you can't even read. You need a navigator. I need a ship. It's only natural."  
"I can probably get Anamaria back to navigate. Or someone. I only need the maps."  
"Jack, you need someone you can trust. Take me with you." Will found the desperation in her voice uncomfortable. He eyed Jack warily.  
"Look, luv, you know how it is."  
"No, I suppose I don't. The only woman on Tortuga who wasn't ashamed to know you is the last woman you would take with you. I used to think it was because I was a woman. But now there is Anamaria. So I am not, what, woman enough?"  
"Maybe if your father had a ship, but he owns a bar, 'Beka. I have a reputation," Jack was desperately avoiding the bottom line.  
"You have a reputation," she whispered, "Of being surrounded by beautiful women who hate you. I couldn't risk destroying that." The young woman stormed off into the crowd.  
"Right then. Move on now, buy maps later," Jack muttered as he rose to his feet, emptying his drink. Will did not move.  
"C'mon, before someone expects us to pay for those drinks," Jack offered with what he obviously thought to be an ingratiating smile.  
"Jack, you were absolutely horrible to that woman. I would never dream of treating Miss Swann in such a manner."  
"Look, Will, this strumpet of yours--," Jack began, an unusual edge of agitation on his voice.  
"Miss Swann is a proper lady, not a strumpet, Jack," his voice cool and angry.  
"Oh, even better, Miss Swann, she's a real humble girl, right? In your league? Probably daughter of a smith or a miller? Maybe a stableboy's child?"  
"This is ludicrous, Jack, you know she's the governor's daughter."  
"Right, right. But she's real plain? Downright ugly even? Unkempt, a little fat, and uncorsetted?"  
"What are you saying? You saw her; she is a radiant beauty. She is the most perfect creature God has ever made. What is your point?" Jack whirled around to face his naive companion, a fury in his eyes.  
"My point, Will Turner, is that you are in no place to judge me, savvy? You're father was a good man and a pirate. I can claim one of the two. But as far as I've seen, you're neither." With that, Jack Sparrow turned sharply and silently, strutting off into the rancor of a Tortuga night. 


	2. Amends

Title: A Good Man   
  
Author: Meg Kenobi (afirmation@aol.com)   
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Pirates of the Caribbean, its respective trademarks, etc., etc, and those orders to cease and desist along with those restraining orders seem to suggest I don't own Johnny Depp or Orlando Bloom either . . . go figure.   
  
Author's note: I lied! Back by some demand, I have decided to write another chapter and then take it from there. Huzzah! Also, forgive me; I am a shameless slash writer and have to exercise great care to not let this get slashy . . . Also, given the time setting and that this is written with intent of not being a Mary Sue, I haven't made my lead a very liberated, independent woman. It just is not appropriate for the time.   
  
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"Damn," muttered Jack Sparrow, swaggering through the stinking, drunken crowds that lined the streets of Tortuga, knowing too well he was only a little rum short of collapse and certainly in no shape to go on a manhunt. Strumpethunt, he corrected himself, would be more accurate. He stumbled as he fought his way through the thinning masses, heading towards the island's opposite coast where a shallow reef made it ill fit for docking passing ships. There was quiet on the far shore, and a sort of desperate beauty. The waves were breaking beyond the reef with a soft roar, their perpetual motion distinguishing the line that blurred the midnight blue of a star studded sky into an ominously rolling sea. This, he remembered, was what had called him away from the land, forever chasing the horizon. Rebekah had followed him dutifully for so many of their younger years, utterly blinded by her love, but he had dropped her without thought when he found a crew willing to take him, blinded and conquered by the unending blue.   
  
She sat in the sand ahead of him, pretending to take no notice of his none too graceful approach. The tides unfurled towards her, and she watched the ocean with an insatiable, unspoken desire. She turned her face to him in silence, the wind whipping her dark hair in angry, knotting licks about her face, her pale skin glowing vaguely in the moonlight, giving her a startling, unappealing wraithlike appearance. He sighed and took his hat off, fingering it nervously before speaking.   
  
"It's really not all that glamorous. Looting. Plundering. Sailing. Pirate--ing, that's not a word, is it?" Despite herself, Rebekah laughed softly.  
  
"It's not that I want to be a pirate, Jack, I want to get away from here." She paused as if contemplating whether it was wise to finish her thought. "And I want to be with you."  
  
"I'm with you when I'm here, and it's not like you'd really be getting away from here. You'd just be taking all the smelly, toothless people off this big, pretty island, putting them on a little, ugly boat, and getting seasick with them."  
  
"But you would be there," her voice as thick and she forced herself to stare at the water, not at his face.  
  
"It's very odd you're marking that as a positive attribute, luv."  
  
"Jack, this may amaze you, but there are women who fall beyond your three designations of whore, lady-pirate, and bar maid. There are women who marry respectable men, keep a house, raise children."  
  
"If you're looking for a respectable man, you could do considerably better."  
  
"Damn you," she whispered, "For being who and what you are. You didn't give me a choice in my obsession." She got to her feet suddenly and started back up the shore, but he caught her arm sharply, forcing her to look   
  
" 'Beka, I am leaving tomorrow. You know perfectly well that I'm probably not coming back, and you would still end like this. Moonlight is a funny thing. You can be all poetic about it, but really it shows us how things really are, away from all the distracting glare of the sun. It reveals things in people," there was a dangerous undercurrent to what he was saying that she could not understand, but she was latched onto the rare severity of his voice. "Now I see you, and you're a great girl, pet, but this never worked. You're deluding yourself with romance and stories. You don't need me. You sell maps. You don't even need a husband. If you want to be a proper lady somewhere, by God, good luck. See if you can find somewhere better than here for granddaughter of a pirate, and daughter of a tavern. But don't wait for me to come back. And if you do, it won't be my fault."  
  
Jack smashed his hat on his head and strode purposefully away, as quickly as he could.  
  
"Jack," she cried, and he looked back for a moment. A great many things played across her face, but she simply whispered, "Goodbye."  
  
*****************   
  
Will played with the square of fabric between his hands, a delicate white handkerchief embroidered E.S. Jack was right, perhaps, gentlemen returned an item a lady dropped. A good man did not stand paralyzed in fear, feeling unworthy of speaking the woman's name. A good man did not pocket a lady's handkerchief and play it through his fingers until it wore thin from the pressure of his constant thought and touch. He felt pathetic, and found himself wondering what if his love was really as shallow as Jack had made it out to be. He found himself wondering why that would be so wrong.   
  
"Bootstrap!" Jack's drunken voice roared from behind him in manufactured good spirits.  
  
"I am Will, Jack, note my thoroughly absent moral fiber," Will spat without making eye contact. Jack cringed at the blatantly bitter tone of Will's voice.  
  
"We could always call you Bootstrap. Look like him, you know." Jack cocked his head studying Will's profile, "But younger, less dead," he amended.   
  
"A true compliment," he snorted.  
  
"You've no intention of making this easier, do you?"  
  
"What precisely are you talking about, Jack?"  
  
"Perhaps making a concession of some wrongdoing here."  
  
"You mean you want to apologize?" Will met Jack's eyes with great amusement.  
  
"No. No, no, no. See, I'm not sorry. Might have been wrong," Jack was quick to reply  
  
"How so?" Will prodded, eager to take full advantage of the moment  
  
"You care about people more than boats. I could love an ugly boat." 


	3. Understanding

Title: A Good Man   
  
Author: Meg Kenobi (afirmationaol.com)   
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Pirates of the Caribbean, its respective trademarks, etc., etc, and those restraining orders seem to suggest I don't own Johnny Depp or Orlando Bloom either . . . go figure.   
  
Author's note: I lied! Back by some demand, I have decided to write another chapter and then take it from there. Huzzah! Also, forgive me if something smells slashy, I can't seem to help myself. Short chapter, all dialogue.   
  
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"Jack, what on God and the Queen's good Earth are you talking about?" Will rose, crossing the room.   
  
"Don't worry on it, mate. We'll stay the night here. Tomorrow we find the Black Pearl and your duck. No, goose. That's not it . . . Swann."  
  
"That is not helpful, Jack. Not even remotely comforting. I'm sailing tomorrow with a pirate. Not just any pirate--."  
  
"Do I smell a complement coming?" Jack grinned impishly.  
  
"But one who is completely mad," Will continued, "I am certainly going to worry on it."  
  
"I knew you loved me. Madness is such an abstract quality, best not to worry yourself about your lacking. If it's any consolation, I sense a bit of the crazy about you. Throwing your lot in with a pirate to save a woman who is far above you. It smacks of old Bootstrap's logic."  
  
"Jack, I want you to listen to me. You don't know me, neither do you know anything about my life. You may have known my father, but he has never been a part of my life. I am here only because I love Miss Swann and would do anything to deliver her from harm. I appreciate neither your abuse nor your drunken assumptions."  
  
"Ouch, mate. You're only purpose is Miss Swann?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why do you want to save her, even if you still can't have her?"  
  
"I am not falling into another one of your none too clever insults," Will growled in frustration.  
  
"I'm trying to understand. Explain it to me like I am the mindless, mad scoundrel you believe me to be," Jack implored, his voice startlingly sincere. Will looked at him, taken aback.  
  
"Because I care about her, Jack. No matter how futile it is, I always will. Maybe it is shallow and foolish. Perhaps you are right, but when I look at her, I see perfection. Perfection in a woman who never can and never will love me. I happen to think that is a considerable concession to make on her behalf."  
  
"But why do you love her if she doesn't love you?!" Jack bellowed, clearly unable to comprehend what Will was saying.  
  
"Because I can never stop hoping she one day will love me! You damn selfish bastard! Why must everything be about getting something in return? You can love unrequited."  
  
"How does it feel?"  
  
"Damn you," Will spat, his voice thick.  
  
"I'm trying to understand her! I can't do this by me onesy; pirate mind isn't capable. Give me some bloody help."  
  
"For the love of God, Jack, is that what this is about?"  
  
"I rather fancy the words "God" and "Jack" that close together. . . "  
  
"Jack!"  
  
"Yes, it is, all right? I'm invoking your almighty wisdom. Happy?"  
  
"Does this mean I'm a good person after all?"  
  
"No, it means your as much a pitiful, dutiful puppy as she is."  
  
"Well, if that's the case -- " Will rose to leave.  
  
"Fine, you're a good man, now go to sleep; you're still going to make an awful pirate." Jack Sparrow extinguished the lamp and watched the darkness settle, trying not to think of the hollowness inside, wondering what had happened to his capacity to care. 


End file.
